Fix It
by arianapeterson19
Summary: You didn't have a lot going for you. You family was dead - killed by a demon - you were almost out of money, and the police thought you were crazy. But hey, at least you made really good coffee, right?
1. You Make the Best Coffee

"What are you doing here?" asked a man with hair that seemed to be running away from his face.

You really wanted to respond with something sarcastic and witty, something that would explain that this was not your dream job, that you aspired to bigger things than making fresh coffee for people who thought you were part of the set, but doing so would draw attention to you and if people started asking then they might realize that your identity was about as real as the man's smile.

"Refreshing the coffee," you reply.

"I wasn't talking to you," snapped the man.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, something that should have earned you an award of some sort but no one noticed. Instead, you simply went back to refreshing the coffee, adding an extra scoop before slamming the lid shut and pressing the magical brew button.

"Are you the one who makes the coffee?" asked a tall man behind you.

You turned and had to look up at the man in order to properly see his face. Even then you weren't sure you could make out all of his features and you wanted to ask him how Mt. Everest looked but you kept it to a simple nod.

"Finally!" yelled the man before getting down on one knee and holding out his hands. "Marry me!"

"You found the coffee brewer?" called another man, this one even taller than the other with a dimpled smile that made him seem younger than he probably was.

"Yes," declared the one on his knee. "And she is gorgeous and perfect and makes the best damn coffee ever and I told you I would find her and marry her."

"Next Tuesday is good for me," you can't stop yourself from saying.

"Perfect!" yelled the man. "I'm Dean."

"_" you respond.

"How long have you worked here?" asked the other man. "I'm Sam, by the way."

"One week and two days," replied Dean before you can. "That's how long the coffee has been heavenly."

"You have a problem," you say with a grin. "But I'm glad you are enjoying the coffee. Now as much fun as it has been, I should probably get back to being invisible before someone notices and tries to fire me."

You freeze, realizing you said that out loud, but the men just laugh.

"If you're not busy could you actually answer some questions for me?" asked Dean. "We're investigating some of the recent disappearances and accidents that have happened in the area."

"Um, sure, okay," you say not at all sounding like it was okay but the coffee would brew without you.

You follow Dean to the open office out of the way where he jumped onto the desk, patting the spot next to him for you. You weren't sure if he thought that patting the hard faux wood surface would make it seem more inviting or if it was just something he did but you gingerly sat down and faced him.

"What do you know about the family in the town over from here, the ones the police found murdered in their home two weeks ago?" asked Dean.

"Nothing," you say a little too quickly. You knew more than you cared to admit to yourself about that family – they were yours, after all.

"Bit quick on the draw there," observed Dean, raising an eyebrow at you.

"What were you expecting?" you ask sarcastically. "Yes, I know what happened to that family. They were a nice little American pie style family, two children, married parents, a dog. They were sitting down to their dinner as a family because that's what American pie families do, when the lights started flickering. A man entered the household and started voo-dooing the shit out of things, throwing stuff around with his mind. He slit the father's throat first then used that blood to draw some anti-Christ symbols that summoned some of his other demon friends. Then those friends and the first guy went to town having fun with torturing the remaining family members. Then they killed them. The end. Is that what you were expecting? Because that's just crazy. Someone broke in and murdered them, just like the police report says."

"Only three bodies were found," said Dean slowly.

"Yes," you reply, rolling your eyes. "Your powers of deduction are outstanding, Sherlock. Truly, I can see why there are whole books on you."

"You said there were 4 family members home that night," continued Dean, making you freeze.

The color drained from your face, leaving you painfully aware of the fact that your already pale features were even more ghostly.

"You mentioned demons," continued Dean softly, leaning closer to you. "None of the symbols were written in the police report. _, care to share with the class?"

You shake your head. No, you do not want to share with the class. You've been trying not to share with yourself. Who was this man who thinks he can propose to you and then demand you tell him your life story?

"I think you were there that night," continues Dean. "I think you saw everything that happened. I think you went to the police and they didn't believe you, they called you crazy. So I think you left town looking for answers. And you're in way over your head, sweetheart, aren't you?"

"I don't need your help," you say, glaring at him, drawing on the anger and fear that has been simmering in your core since the attack. "And if you tell anyone, if you ruin this for me, I will end you."

To his credit, Dean didn't laugh in your face, which is what you were expecting. You would have laughed if the roles had been switched.

"Let's make a deal," said Dean after several minutes. "I'm not really on for research, that's more of Sammy's forte, so how about we get out of this library and get something to eat. You can show me what you have on the matter."

"I don't need your help."

"Yes you do. Have you ever hunted a demon before?"

"Dean," said Sam, leaning against the door, giving his brother a warning look. "Leave _ alone."

"She was there," replied Dean.

"_," said Sam, turning his attention to you with a kind smile, one that would melt chocolate if there was any chocolate around. "I know this is hard, but we believe you. We don't think you're crazy. So can you trust us for just a little while and come with us? We just want to see what you have gathered, help you out, because if you saw what happened, you're still in danger. And we can help."

You look at these two giants of men and realized that you didn't really have a choice. You had no money, you didn't know what you were doing, the only thing you really had going for you was the fact that you blended into the background and moved around unnoticed. If they could help, if you had anything they needed to know, then maybe they would buy you a warm meal.

"Fine," you say softly. "But lunch is on you."


	2. Yes to a Bed

They took you to a diner called "Shortcakes". The sign said it was open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year, and you honestly believed it by the smell. You were pretty sure at least 12 people had been murdered there and the old man with three days worth of stubble in the corner was probably dead from a heart attack or boredom, but the men ended up ushering you to the far end, one sitting in the corner facing the exit, his back to the wall, the other slipping in after you, your backs to the door. It made you nervous, sitting so close to A) a giant man of a stranger and B) with your back to the only viable exit save the grimy window on your right. But that window probably hadn't been cleaned since soap was invented and you would rather not get the plague, thank you very much.

"What are you three having?" asked a homely waitress who might have been pretty before she started smoking 12 billion packs a day.

"Water," said Sam.

"Coffee," said Dean.

"Coffee," you reply quietly, knowing you would be needing the caffeine before long.

The waitress left and you wanted to huddle away from the men, every warning your mother had given you about being caught with strange boys echoing in your head but honestly, if you were going to go, killed in a diner by two hot serial killers was not the worst way you could think of. Maybe you'd even ask Sam to make sure they put that on your tombstone, which was a shame because you had planned on having, "I'd tell you how I died, but then I'd have to kill you" written if you bothered getting a tombstone at all.

"How did you survive a demon attack?" asked Dean, getting right to the point. "You should be dead."

"I have no intention of dying because I'm not convinced that whatever lay after life-heaven, hell, the abyss, nothing, Valhalla, whatever- doesn't include coffee, in which case I'm was not going," you say loftily because you spoke sarcasm like a first language. "Still, I am nothing if not prepared, and in my bag tucked next to an extensive first aid kit, is a poorly scrawled will and final instructions. You know, just in case."

"But how did you survive?"

"I hid in the closet," you sigh. There was no point in hiding the truth, not from these two. It's not like you had anything left to lose. "The pantry. Their eyes were black. I salted the door and prayed for it to be over. Fat lot of good that did. Maybe if I had been more specific who I was praying too instead of just some general 'hope to hell you hear me oh great entity of the universe' prayer."

"How did you know to salt the door?"

"I like to cover my bases," you reply, rolling your eyes. "I read. I went through this entire phase where all I read was about supernatural beings, myths, legends, and the like. My mom always said it was useless; guess I proved her wrong."

You grin bitterly and hang your head, fighting off the emotions that threaten to overwhelm you. Emotions were bad, you swore you were allergic, so you took a deep breath, gathered up all those nasty little feelings, and let the breath out, shoving the emotions into an imaginary deep green bottle and corked it, that same bottle you had been filling up most of your life, promising yourself you would deal with it later but you never did.

"So now what?" you ask, looking back up at the boys.

"Did you get a name?" asked Sam.

"No."

"How old are you?" asked Dean.

"Nineteen," you promptly reply.

"Why did you leave?"

"The police think I'm insane," you reply. "They also think I killed them and they think I'm dead. The police think a lot of things, none of them true. I had to get out; I wouldn't survive jail. I'm too cute."

"What can I get you to eat?" asked the waitress, still not nearly as excited about life as she could be.

Sam ordered a salad, Dean ordered a burger, and you ordered a burger because protein was important and you hadn't eaten a full meal in like three days. Sam and Dean seemed to have one of those silent conversations that were made possible by being entirely too close to someone – like those old married couples or twins. You sort of wished you could do that with someone but then that would mean you had to socialize with real people – and you didn't believe in socializing.

"Where are you staying?" asked Sam.

"I don't normally give out such information on the first date," you say.

"Fair enough," said Dean with a grin. "So what, we buy you lunch, you provide no useful information, and that's it?"

"The demon had two friends," you snap, glaring at the green eyed man. "One of them mentioned a guy named Alistair and they had a thing for using knives like a butcher, not a hunter."

"Relax, sweetheart," said Dean, holding up his hands in surrender as the food was put down. "You've been more than helpful."

You parted ways after lunch, the boys off to do whatever the hell it was they did – you were pretty sure Hogwarts was looking for some rogue agents – and you went to finish your research at the library. By the time you were done, the sun had set, you were tired, and the library was closing. With a sigh, you hitched your army green cloth bag over your shoulder (the one that could be a purse or could be a duffle but was probably a duffle because it held all your worldly possessions) and left the library. You walked down the dim street, hands in your jacket pockets, hood up, hoping you could blend into the background just long enough to find a place to sleep.

Eventually you settled for a nice bench. Keeping one arm looped through your bag and resting your head on it, you curled up and prepared for yet another poor night of sleep.

"Now this is just sad," came a voice that was familiar.

You rolled off the bench, landed, and turned to face the threat, knife already in hand before you recognized who was talking to you.

"You realize that stalking is not romantic and is made more comfortable with social media," you say, not lowering your knife but relaxing your stance. "Facebook and Twitter both have mobile apps, you can walk and stalk at the same time, no need to go old school on me."

"We aren't here to hurt you," said Sam.

It wasn't fair, that overgrown man-child could honestly make a puppy look evil with how innocent he looked.

"Then what do you want?" you sigh, slipping the knife back into its hidden sheath in your sleeve. "Because I'm not really in the mood to play games."

"You're not spending the night out here," said Dean as though he was declaring himself the king of the mountain. "Come on."

You look at your bench, then at the beautiful black car parked not far away, and decide that even if these guys were murders it beat sleeping on another bench.

"Fine," you say.

They end up taking you to a motel room where they had clearly set up camp for this hunt. It wasn't huge but it was surprisingly homey for a motel room. Sam told you to put your things on the bed farthest from the door, which you did, then asked you to sit so you could talk.

"Please," you say, wrinkling your nose. "We aren't going to talk about our feelings now, are we? Because I don't do feelings."

Dean chuckled.

"I like here," he declared. "You're alright, kid."

"Not a kid," you grumble petulantly, for all the world sounding like the child you were claiming not to be.

"Why didn't you tell us you were so short on cash?" asked Sam. "We wouldn't have let you just leave like that if we had known. It's dangerous for you out there right now with those demons still on the loose."

"I told you, I don't need your help," you reply. "I'm not a child."

"You're sixteen," said Sam.

"You…you don't know that," you say. "You can't know that."

"We looked you up, sweetheart," said Dean. "You can barely get a job, let alone live on your own. Listen, we can keep you safe until we find these demons – which may be a while – but after that we need to get you to your family."

"You don't get it!" you say, standing up and glaring, entire body shaking with either rage or fear or sadness – you weren't sure which. "I don't have any family left. They are gone. I watched them get murdered. I don't have anywhere to go. I have no one to miss me. And I am 16, I'm not going into the system just to be spat back out in a few years. I can do this all on my own, thank you. I don't need you. I don't need anyone. So if you're going to turn me in, I'm going to disappear on you. Trust me, I'm good at disappearing."

Sam and Dean looked at each other again, having another one of those silent conversations. It annoyed you on a personal level, them mentally communicating as if you weren't even there. After several minutes and multiple changed expressions, the brothers looked back at you.

"I meant what I said," said Dean. "We will keep you safe. It will take a while to track down these demons, probably months. So let's not get ahead of ourselves here. If we promise not to turn you over to the state after all this is done, do you promise not to leave or slip away in the middle of the night?"

On principle you want to say no but honestly you didn't have anywhere to go, you had no money, and the world was far more terrifying than you had anticipated. These men seemed competent and they hadn't murdered you yet, so perhaps that streak would continue. You were too tired to care either way.

"Fine," you say. "Sleep well, Wesley, I'll most likely kill you in the morning."

With that, you turn on your side, away from the boys, and close your eyes to sleep.

"Did she just quote Princess Bride?" asked Dean, causing you to grin to yourself, your first real grin since the attack.


	3. Highway to Hell

'Highway to Hell' is blaring on your phone, your signal to wake up. With a groan, you reach out blindly until your hand finds your phone, then swipe your finger across the screen until the alarm shuts off.

It's early, you're tired, but you have to get up and change to go to your awful job at the library. The hours were not ideal but they didn't check your background and didn't ask too many questions, plus they allowed you to research. The pay was probably not legal but your check would come in tomorrow and after that you could leave. You might even have enough for your own room for a night or two. With that poor motivation, you tumble out of bed and look around to find your bag so you can get going.

"Where are you headed so early?" asked Sam, looking up from his computer at the table.

"A little early for porn, isn't it?" you shoot back and instantly regret your choice. You mother warned you that one day you would wish you thought before you spoke. Looks like you finally found that day. "I'm sorry. I'm not…I'm not good at people."

"Join the club," said Sam with a smile.

"Do you have jackets?"

"At lease you have good taste in music," said Dean, emerging from the bathroom in just a towel, still steaming from his shower.

"Damn," you say, eying Dean appreciatively.

"Don't objectify me," pouted Dean.

"Sure, it's fine for men to do it but not for women," you say with a smirk. "Whatever, I have work. Thanks for letting me crash here and everything but now I have things to do, people to see, you know, important stuff like that."

"I'm pretty sure we agreed to keep you safe," said Dean, pulling on a shirt – you were pretty sure you could hear the entire population of the world groaning at having that body covered up with clothes. "I hate to break it to you sweetheart, but the trail for your demon friends have gone cold. We won't be able to find them again until they decide to resurface. So it's time to move on."

You study the brothers for a moment. You didn't know them but they were willing to whisk you away from this place, keep you safe, and maybe even teach you how to hunt this demon properly. It was a big thing, to put your life in the hands of perfect strangers who could still end up being serial killers or something.

"Where are we going?" you ask suspiciously. "I have a job here."

"You sleep on a bench," replied Dean. "You should be in high school, studying things, not busting your ass trying to get enough money to buy a meal. Yeah, I noticed how hungry you were yesterday, don't try to deny it."

"You didn't answer my question," you reply evenly.

"We're going back to our home," said Sam, stepping in as if he thought his brother was about to start a fight with you. "It's safe from pretty much everything. We can figure it out from there."

Again, you hesitate, because it's one thing to trust these men enough to share a motel room with them (something you're still fairly positive only happened because of your sleep deprived lapse of judgment) and another to follow them into the great unknown – also called the world outside of your tri-county area.

"There's nothing left for you here," said Sam softly. "Trust me, I know this is hard, but you're safer with us."

"Okay," you say. "Let's do this thing."

Dean grinned and hauled the bags out to his beautiful black Impala. Seriously, you had drooled over cars similar to it since you were old enough to drool – so basically forever. You dad had joked that you had been born too late because you only liked old cars and old music. But when you saw that Impala in the daylight, you had to stop and just stare for a moment.

"Is it possible to be in love with an inanimate object?" you say probably too loudly since Dean looks over at you. "Because I would marry that car."

"Sammy, we're keeping her," yelled Dean as his brother emerged, shutting the motel door behind him with a sound of finality. "She likes AC/DC and Baby and makes kick ass coffee. This one is ours."

Sam rolled his eyes fondly at his brother.

"You know, friendship is such a strange concept," you say, climbing into the back seat while the brothers took the front. "You pick a human and just…do stuff together. Like, 'Yup, this one is mine now. I pick them to ruin their life forever.' How weird is that?"

"Sounds a lot like having a brother," commented Sam, looking pointedly at Dean.

The drive was long, hours of roads that all looked the same, fields that were barren, and nothing much to do. You pull out the only book you had, the one that was in your bag when you left, and begin reading it for the hundredth time. It wasn't even your favorite book. To be frank you had no idea why you read the book so frequently. Perhaps it was because it was the first book you read that was so realistic. Maybe it was because it wasn't a happy ending, it was a real ending. Whatever the reason, you sought the comfort and familiarity of the book as the drive dragged on.

"What are you reading?" asked Sam several hours later.

"The End of the Affair," you reply. "It's by Graham Greene."

"What's it about?"

"About a guy who is a dick, a woman who he had an affair with, the woman's husband, and why the affair ended. It's set in World War II."

"Looks like you enjoy it," said Sam, nodding at the worn copy in your hands.

"Not really. It's not a happy book. But it is realistic. I like that."

"If you don't like it, why do you read it so often?" asked Dean.

"I don't know. Maybe I have a mildly masochistic streak that is sated by reading books I don't truly enjoy."

"You like to read?" asked Sam.

"Yes," you reply absently. "It's a bit of an obsession. I go through phases. I went on a mythology kick a while back and learned as much as I could about mythology. Right now I'm on a realistic fiction high, hence why this book has made yet another appearance."

No one spoke for a long time after that, not until Dean parked the car and you followed the brothers into a bunker. At least, you assumed it was a bunker because it certainly was unlike any house you had ever been in before.

"You can have this room," said Sam, opening a door for you.

It was larger than your room as home, bare of everything except a bed and dresser. A bathroom attached to it held a bathtub, toilet, and sink.

"Thank you," you say softly.

"I'll um, let you get settled," said Sam. "Kitchen is down the hall. Feel free to explore. Don't touch the Impala and if you see a guy in a trench coat, it's fine, he's awkward but safe."

You aren't entirely sure how to respond to that, so you just nod and start putting away your things. It takes you a whole of five minutes to get everything situated. Your clothes don't even fill the top drawer of the dresser, your one and only book looks lonely on the bed, and your toothbrush and toothpaste need friends but it's all you had left and it would work for the moment.

"We need to take you shopping," said Dean, sticking his head through the doorway and looking about the barren room.

"I'm fine," you respond defensively. You had no money, how the hell did this guy expect you to purchase anything? "I'm going for a modern, simplistic feel. I rather think I nailed it."

Dean rolled his eyes and leaned against the doorframe, taking up most of it and effectively blocking you in.

"Look," he said, clearly unimpressed with your snark. "You may have Sammy fooled but you're not fooling me. I know that look. It sucks, losing everything. You're barely holding it together as is. You're exhausted, half starved, and you don't trust us. I get it. All I'm asking is that you let us help you out."

"I don't need your help," you say, praying he didn't notice the way your voice shook.

"Yeah kid, you do," said Dean with a sad grin, moving into the room.

You shake your head stubbornly and clench your fists, nails biting into your palms in an effort to ground yourself and keep those nasty emotions at bay. You could do this, you didn't need anyone, you would be fine on your own.

"It's okay," said Dean quietly, pulling you in to a hug.

You stiffen for a second, not sure what to do with the contact, but then you breath and it smells like worn leather, grease, pine needles, and something that you assume is uniquely Dean and he feels so solid and warm, holding you firmly around your back with one hand on the back of your head, messing with your hair, and you just break. The tears start as a trickle, a few salty little bastards escaping before the floodgates open and you are openly sobbing into this practical strangers shirt, but he doesn't push you away. If anything he pulls you closer and hums "Hey Jude", resting his chin on the top of your head as if he had no intention of going anywhere.


	4. School

A week after moving in with Sam and Dean they enrolled you in the local high school. It wasn't a huge school but it wasn't small either. There were just enough people that everyone at least recognized people by sight but more than enough that everyone had their own groups to hang out with. Groups that were already established and you would not fit in with.

Dean stopped his car outside of the red brick building and stared at you.

"Well, _," he said. "I'll pick you up after school."

"Sounds like a plan," you say.

You get out of the car and walk up to the building. Other students are already milling about. A few toss looks at you but you ignore all of them equally and find your locker. It was painted grey just like every other locker in the building and you could probably fit inside it if you really wanted – not that you wanted to, it was just good to know.

"Nobody around here wears Converse," says a girl who looks rather like a starfish. "You're new. I'm Elle, short for Elizabeth. Who are you?"

The bell rings before you are obligated to answer and you walk away to find your first class. The hallways are in a vague order, each hall dedicated to a subject, but the rooms are numbered as if some drunk person was in charge and no one bothered to change it. Eventually, right before the late bell sounds, you find your science class. Everyone already has their seats. You're pretty sure they aren't assigned but people are sticklers for habit and they have all probably sat in the same seat since the first day of the semester. You vow to get there earlier tomorrow to throw them off and take one of their seats, but for now you settle in the back corner.

"Good morning, students," says a man with glasses, red hair, and freckles. "We have a new student joining our ranks today. _, would you please introduce yourself to your peers and tell them a little something about you?"

"I'm _," you say, standing up and cringing inwardly at the awkwardness of the situation. "I like donuts."

You sit back down while everyone stares, trying to figure out if you were serious or being stupid. With a sigh you decide that no one has brought your particular brand of humor to the town yet.

"Um, thank you," said the man who could have been a Weasley in another life (probably Percy, he was a right git). "Now, back to the chapter."

Every single teacher made you stand up and announce yourself to the class. By the end of the day you had a hard time remembering what you had said but you were pretty sure you told one of your classes – more than likely English – that you were abducted by a circus when you were nine but they returned you because you burned their pancakes.

"Hey, new girl!"

You look up from your locker and see it's the starfish girl, the one called Elle short for Elizabeth. She brought friends this time. Oh good, you had been wondering if her friends would also resemble sea creatures but most of them were decidedly normal looking.

"I heard you moved here from Washington," said Elle. "Is that true?"

"No," you reply.

When it becomes painfully obvious that you have zero intention of expanding, Elle tries again.

"Sarah said you have a pet turtle. Is that true?"

"Sarah is very knowledgeable on my life," you say, throwing a grin over your shoulder while you finish piling books in your arms. "I would trust everything she says."

"Look," says Elle, her smile going from fake to a glare. "I'm trying to be nice to you. I can make your life miserable while you're here, so I suggest you turn that attitude around or you will regret the consequences."

"I'm quaking in my out of style Converse," you reply drily. "Look, Elle short for Elizabeth. I appreciate your effort, don't take it personally, I just have no interest in being friends with someone who thinks an appropriate conversation started is to tell me that my shoes aren't cool."

Elle didn't seem to know how to respond, so you took that as your opportunity to leave. However, it seemed like one of her friends wasn't as dim witted – or maybe more so since she went directly for physical violence – and she shoved you down while the rest of the hall laughed.

Rolling your eyes, you pick yourself back up, gather your books, and walk to the front doors, praying that Dean would be waiting just like he said you would.

He was and you had never been more thrilled to see that black Impala in your life.

"How was your first day?" asked Dean when you threw yourself into the front seat.

"Every teacher made me introduce myself, I ate lunch in the library, and a girl shoved me down at the end of the day," you respond, closing your eyes while Dean pulled away from the school. "So all in all, not bad."

"A girl shoved you?" said Dean and if you didn't know better you would have thought he was upset at the news.

"Yeah," you sigh. "No worries, I'm not concerned with people who have the coping mechanisms of a four year old."

Dean stopped in front of one of those markets that held everything from food to car repairs.

"We're getting you some proper clothes," announced Dean. "And bedding. And shampoo. Sammy is tired of you stealing all of his."

Shopping. You had a love-hate relationship with shopping. It was tolerable when you were in the mood but when you weren't, it was an irritating task that you would rather avoid. However, you got out of the car and followed Dean into the market.

It turned out Dean enjoyed shopping, if he grin was anything to go by. He pushed the cart, added things that were needed, but seemed content to let you pick out what you liked.

You grabbed a few pairs of jeans and sturdy pants, a single skirt, and several long sleeved shirts. After that, you grabbed a few bras, some underwear, and then followed Dean to the bedding section. There were more choices from bedding than you were prepared for, which caused you to pause.

"What type of bedding did you have at home?" asked Dean, seeing you pause and hoping to be helpful.

"It was blue," you reply. "My mom picked it out. I hated it. It had ugly little bows everywhere."

You grab the closest set, all wrapped in plastic, and throw it into the cart, not caring what it looked like as long as you got out of that aisle as quickly as possible.

When you arrived back at the bunker and went to make your bed you found that you had chosen a set of Avengers blankets. It made your room look like it belonged to a little boy more than a teenaged girl but that almost seemed better, like something in your life retained innocence and belief in super heroes.

"Dean tells me some girl pushed you down at school," said Sam, leaning against the doorframe.

"Dean has a big mouth," you reply.

"Do you want us to take care of her?"

The offer seemed genuine.

"She's like two pounds, I'm pretty sure I can take her," you reply. "In all fairness, I had just rejected their offer of friendship – at least, I think that's what they were offering, they may have wanted me to worship them. I'll do more research and report back which it was."

Sam wasn't sure how to respond; you couldn't blame him.

"You're crazy," said Sam at last as if stating the obvious was needed.

"You may not understand my particular brand of insanity but you should at least admire my total dedication to it," you reply.

"You're not as crazy as Sam," said Dean. "Sam's a right nut job on his best days."

"Shut up," said Sam, though he was smiling so you assumed that Dean was teasing. "You're the one who's friends with Cas. If anyone's insane it's him!"

"Relax, we're all crazy here, it's not a competition," you say, stepping between the brothers while silently thinking that if it was a competition, you would win.


	5. Stuck

The second day at your new school went just about as well as you had expected. It wasn't until gym, your last class of the day, that you ran into more problems.

You slipped on your light grey uniform gym shirt and navy blue shorts, wondering if the people in charge of uniforms actively searched for the most unflattering clothes a girl could wear or if it was just a happy coincidence that they happened to pick the most unflattering cut of clothing ever. Either way, you could at least take comfort in the fact that everyone else was bound to look as awful as you.

"New girl," said a voice from behind you.

"Elle, short for Elizabeth," you respond, rolling your eyes but not bothering to turn around.

"Have you decided to change your attitude?" asked Elle short for Elizabeth.

"You know, I briefly entertained the idea," you say, sitting on the bench and tying your shoes. "But then I thought, 'better not' so yeah, I guess that's a no."

"I don't think you understand how difficult I can make your life," said Elle short for Elizabeth, advancing on you, an ugly scowl on her face.

"I don't think you understand that I just don't care," you reply with a smile. "Quite frankly, my self worth doesn't ride on the opinion of a bratty little girl you thinks she can control the universe."

"Excuse me?" gasped Elle short for Elizabeth, stepping back as though she had been physically hit.

"I'm sorry that daddy doesn't give you enough attention or whatever, but I'm really not interested in you, your so-called power to make me miserable, or anything else. The only thing I care about is coffee – and like two people."

With that you walked out of the changing room and into the gym. The coach ordered you all to run a mile as a warm up. While the others groaned, you shrugged and started running. At your last school you had been on the cross country team, so running a mile wasn't a big deal to you. Easily settling into a brisk pace, you finished before almost everyone and sat down to wait. After the mile was over, the coach ordered everyone to try climbing the ropes on one side of the gym. What rope climbing proved, you had no idea. It seemed like a useless skill to have but when it was your turn, you dutifully grabbed the rope and started your trek up.

It turned out that climbing to the top of the rope wasn't nearly as difficult as everyone else made it look. All you had to do was pull yourself up with your arms, using your legs as balances. Once you reached the top, you rang the bell. As the bell rang, the rope – which had probably been hanging from the rafters for several decades, bearing the weight, sweat, and blood of thousands of teenagers, cracked ominously. You looked down as saw that the coach was helping a girl who had fallen and was crying like a three year old, and Elle short for Elizabeth and her friends were pulling on your rope. Their combined weights were breaking it and you had just enough time to grab the rafter before the rope gave in altogether and tumbled down to the floor.

You heaved yourself onto the thin I-beam and looked down at the ground. Elle short for Elizabeth looked furious, the boys in the class were laughing, and the coach simply didn't know what to do. Turns out he had never had to deal with a student being stuck on the ceiling before.

"Wait right there," yelled the coach as the final bell of the day sounded. "I'm going to get help."

"Oh, what a great idea," you say under your breath as everyone filed out of the gym to change, still laughing about the girl stuck in the rafters. "I was thinking about just leaving but staying put sounds like just as good an alternative. Thank goodness coach suggested it or who knows what might have happened."

You held on to the support beam the attached to the top of the ceiling as if it held all the answers to the world and you could access them if you squeezed hard enough. Closing your eyes, you tried to picture England or Frank Sinatra or anything that was not where you were.

"Hey there sweetheart," called a familiar voice. "You ready to come down?"

Peeking your eyes open, you saw Dean grinning up at you from the floor. That grin quickly vanished when the coach, janitor, and principal entered with a ladder that was too short. They argued for a while about it, then finally Dean went to the closest rope and quickly climbed it, reaching the rafter in no time and crawling over to you.

"You okay?" he asked, pushing some hair behind your ear.

"Peachy," you respond, not letting go of the beam and shaking violently. "This is where I like to hand out, you know. I'm practicing to become Hawkeye. All I need is a bow."

"Whatever you say," chuckled Dean. "You're going to have to crawl to that other rope though, okay?"

"No thank you," you respond. "This is where I live now."

"I'm not going to let you fall," said Dean. "I'll be right here the entire time. It's the only way down, so unless you really do plan on living here, you need to trust me and start moving."

You look at him, then down at the narrow beam he was balancing on, then the rope you would have to climb down. Before you could protest again, Dean pulled your hand away from the beam and started scooting back, forcing you to go with him. It was slow going but when you finally made it to the rope, Dean lowered himself and grabbed it first and shimmied down a few feet before looking up at you and smiling.

"Your turn," said Dean.

As you looked down at him, at the rope, and the ground, you knew this was going to be one of those defining moments in your life, one of the moments you looked back on and knew that your life would have been entirely different if you had acted in another way. Because up until that moment you had been strong, relying on yourself to make things happen. You had maintained the persona of snarky badass who didn't need nor want help from anyone. You had gone out of your way to isolate yourself so that no one else could hurt you and looking down at that rope and Dean waiting you knew that if you told him to go on, that you would follow when he reached the ground because you didn't need that extra level of security that came from him being right behind you, then you could hold on to your shield for just a little while longer. But if you didn't, if you started climbing down the rope with Dean still there just a few feet away, ready to catch you if you slipped, then you would have to admit that you were truly as young as your birth certificate claimed and that you really did need someone to look after you.

With shaky hands, you lowered yourself onto the rope, almost missing it completely but then Dean's warm hand was there, wrapping your leg around the thick rope and you were both making the way down to the blessedly solid floor.

"Good girl," said Dean approvingly.


End file.
